


Even Sugar Peas Run Out Of Snap

by sandyk



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/pseuds/sandyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe we're stronger than that. All the times after the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Sugar Peas Run Out Of Snap

  
  


  
****  


DISCLAIMER: So not mine.  
NOTES: Massive, huge, monstrous thanks to Shana & Luna. Also Jess and Mosca. And  
the Applebutter that is not a condiment. Slartibartfast and the SEP fields are  
not Jeremy's, but the creation of the late, great Douglas Adams. Inspired by a  
long drive listening to the best of Smog and Liz Phair's Whip-smart. I listened  
to three songs by Amy Rigby obsessively while writing: Downside of Love, Didn't  
I? and Maybe We're Stronger Than That. The last provides the title and summary.  
WARNING: Angst. Unhappiness. One offensive, homophobic joke. Slams of Matchbox  
Twenty.

 **Even Sugar Peas Run Out Of Snap.**

When we made our vows to have and hold  
We never thought about how love grows old ...  
And when we have another argument  
You wonder where your feelings for me went  
Even sugar peas run out of snap  
Maybe we're stronger than that. - Amy Rigby

I'm sitting on my balcony, smoking. Casey's asleep in my bed, probably clutching  
a pillow in the empty space where I should be. It's been six months.

All the things I thought would be easy about this turned out to be difficult.  
And all the things I thought would be difficult have turned out to be nearly  
impossible.

It's there in our heads every day, a list like Harper's Index. Number of out  
sports anchors: zero. And none of our friends can keep a secret.

I won't review the list again. Casey does it every day, it seems, and I won't  
think about it again tonight. I thought it would be hard to keep our lies  
straight, to remember not to tell, but it's more than that. Even before this we  
spent nights at each other places after drinking too much or staying up too  
late. We don't ever draw attention to it. But we lie, by omission, every day to  
the people we like the most.

Sometimes it's painful that Kim doesn't tease me about this relationship, that  
Natalie doesn't kibitz my sex life. I'd like to tell someone that I'm with this  
person and I'm actually, on the whole, pretty happy. I've always told them  
before.

We've become psycho paranoid about the way we treat each other whenever we're  
not alone. I question every gesture - is that the way I used to look at him? Is  
that the way we used to argue? It's like being poked by your younger brother  
unexpectedly, over and over again, every single day. I've started smoking again  
just to calm down.

Casey got crazy excited about this anniversary. It's important to me, but I  
would have been happy with just an acknowledgement of some sort. He made plans.  
He tried for a few days to figure out a way two ostensibly straight friends  
could take a carriage ride in the park and finally gave up on the idea, before I  
had to tell him I wasn't going to be caught dead in one of those tourist traps.  
We did have an expensive dinner, with candles and the like - just two friends  
settling a bet, we said. At least he didn't try to surprise me so I knew to buy  
him a nice gift. After we got here, after dinner, he pulled out his gifts and I  
was relieved to see that neither was the right size for jewelry. I had this  
brief vision of ID bracelets or something else that I would never wear. He  
bought me books. I bought him sunglasses - expensive, cool sunglasses. He  
grinned and put them on, and then walked over to the mirror in the bathroom to  
admire himself.

"These are definitely cool."

"Yes. I picked them, after all. They look good on you."

"Were they expensive?"

"That's not a polite question. Of course, they were expensive."

"Expensive expensive?"

"Yes, expensive. They're Serengetis, man. I wanted to get you something nice."

"Right. But it's not my birthday. It would seem kind of weird for you to just  
buy these for me."

What he means is people might wonder. For women, I would have bought jewelry,  
maybe. Maybe clothes, even underwear. I like seeing Casey in his boxers, I like  
seeing him out of them, but even beyond the spectacle of me buying another guy  
underwear ... So I got the sunglasses. I had fun picking them out. And he does  
look good in them, even cool. He preens in them a little, but I make him take  
them off and put them someplace safe before we fuck.

I had also thought, when we started this, when we jumped off the cliff together,  
hands held tight, that the relationship itself would be hard. Some nights,  
lately, I lie in bed and I stare at his closet while he's going down on me and I  
wish I wasn't with someone who had such organized closets. Then I go back to  
paying attention, of course, but I wonder if I should be distracted at all.

It should be nice to be sleeping with your best friend, but it's weird to have  
the person you tell everything to be the person you want to talk about. I miss  
the safety valve and the post-game analysis and the occasional insight. Because  
now it's all about the two of us, and we don't sit around and hash out  
everything we do and say like little girls. And I can't tell anyone else.

The sex part has worked out fine. We had that from the beginning, and it's still  
pretty good. That's about what I expected.

****

Jeremy's had too much to drink. Way more than I have ever seen him drink. He and  
Natalie are having another one of their things and we sit in the back at  
Anthony's. Casey's left already, which is fine; it's not a night we were going  
to be together anyway. Dana dragged Natalie away after Natalie drank too much  
and threw up in the bathroom. Elliott, Kim, Dave and the rest of the crew have  
gone off to a karaoke bar, leaving me with Jeremy in his cups.

He starts slurring something about how difficult it is working with Natalie and  
sleeping with Natalie.

"Exactly," I say, thinking of Casey. We disagree about whether something should  
be in the fifties or not, or how an intro should sound, and then it's not just  
at work, it's over dinner, before sex, in the morning and it never ends. We talk  
about work and it's code for talking about us. We talk about work and it's not a  
code for anything; it's the thing we do that we love and we talk about work and  
sports all the fucking time.

The first time Casey said he loved me, after we first started this thing, we  
were arguing about catchers. We were walking out of the bar to catch a cab and  
hissing at each other about the relative merits of Mickey Cochrane vs. Mike  
Piazza. Casey had taken the position that Piazza was the man, which was his way  
of saying he was just talking to Dana, and I shouldn't look down girls' shirts  
while he was right there. He's the only one who would ever notice these things,  
but I'm the one person who would notice the hurt and pissed off part, and I'm  
pissed at him for that one moment he didn't trust me. I argued just as  
vehemently that Cochrane was the man of his time, which was my way of saying he  
wasn't just talking to Dana, I could tell, and I was supposed to be, you know,  
straight and I was just looking at the girl anyway.

We turned a corner and he pulled me into a recessed doorway on the deserted  
street and, with his hands on either side of my face, he kissed me. He said,  
"Seriously, Danny, I love you." Up close, I could taste and smell the four  
whiskey sours he'd had, so I kissed him on the forehead and pulled away to get a  
cab. He'd fidgeted in the cab and wouldn't look at me until I said that Piazza  
was the man. Which was code for I love you, too. He said it to me again, this  
time sober, at six months. We don't say things like that to each other when we  
have sex, but we always wake up tangled up together, which is the same thing in  
some ways.

Jeremy is still talking.

"And it's like, sometimes I don't want to talk about sports or Sports Night and  
I don't want it to be all about us, either. You know?"

I nod. He keeps going.

"You know what I mean, of course, I mean you and Casey," and he makes some  
swirling gesture with his glass.

My hands are suddenly numb. I have a lit cigarette dangling from my fingers. I  
look over at him. I can't believe I heard that right. I say, as calmly as I can  
manage, "What do you mean by that?"

Jeremy looks up quickly and makes a befuddled face. "You know what I mean - you  
and Casey doing that thing, that dating thing." He stops and I can see his brain  
catch up to his mouth and he looks more appalled at himself than befuddled now.  
He says, "I mean. I think."

This would be an appropriate place to slap him down. To date, I haven't had to  
deny outright this thing and now should be the moment. But Mike Piazza is the  
man, and even knowing the list backwards and forwards, it feels wrong to say  
Casey is nothing to me. I take drag off the cigarette and say, instead, "Who  
else thinks that?"

Jeremy looks at me and thinks. "The thing is, I've thought about this and it's  
like" -- he says something that sounds like "Slarty barf fast" and "ESP" and I  
have no idea what's talking about. "Also," and he looks very serious as he says  
this, "I think I'm smarter than some of them. And, you know, not personally  
invested in the Casey Dana thing."

"You've lost me, Jeremy."

"From the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." He pronounces it carefully and even  
spells it. "Slartibartfast. Actually it's from the third book, Life, the  
Universe and Everything. There's this guy Slartibartfast, who's also in the  
first book, actually."

"And he has ESP. And he does something fast. Which is why you think this thing  
but no one else does. I understand completely."

"Not ESP. SEP. Somebody Else's Problem. See, Slartibartfast's ship - it's shaped  
like an Italian bistro, and it has a SEP field around it. Because people see  
something strange and they dismiss it as somebody else's problem and don't see  
it. Like," he stumbles again and gulps down his drink. "Like you and Casey.  
People see things that are slightly off and they just fit it into what they  
think they should be seeing."

Jeremy starts talking again. "I'm not saying that you aren't very, very good at  
this secret thing - I see it, but then I don't know anyone else would. Because I  
know you two. And I don't think it's somebody else's problem. And what can you  
do? Because sports is exactly the wrong place to be doing - to, well, yeah."

He stops talking again. He looks incredibly sad. "So. It's a shitty world. You  
know?"

The next day he finds me in the editing room. I watch the cars speed around the  
track. He sits down next to me.

"So - well. I had a lot to drink last night."

That's my chance to take it back. Nothing here. Nothing to see, move along,  
people. But it is just Jeremy. And I have to live this half-life thing. I just  
look at the cars. They're going awfully fast and I wonder what Dana would think.

Jeremy stands up. He walks to the door and waits for me to say something, and I  
do, but I think it's not what he expects. I say, "Don't tell. Please?"

I can see him reflected in the screen. He looks very serious. He says, "Of  
course. I won't. I haven't said anything." He looks out the door but doesn't  
open it. "The way - the way I first noticed is that you and Casey, you were both  
really happy. And neither of you had said anything to anyone about why. But you  
were both - you were both happy."

I smile at the cars and Jeremy's reflection. That's how he figured it out, and  
it's true. He finally leaves.

After the show, Casey strips down to his boxers and practically crawls under the  
covers. He's lying on his side and when I spoon up behind him, he says, "Dan.  
I'm really tired. I just." But he takes my hand and pulls it across his stomach.  
He leaves his hand over mine over him.

Isaac gave me a book a few months ago, for my birthday: Julian Barnes's History  
of the World in 10 and a Half Chapters. There's a chapter, the half chapter, on  
love. Barnes writes that he knows his wife loves him, truly, deeply, loves him  
because even in her sleep she lifts her hair from the back of her neck so he can  
sleep with his head against the nape of her neck. Even after she cuts her hair  
and there is nothing to lift, she still tries to do it in her sleep, and he  
knows she loves him.

"Casey. Jeremy knows." His whole body tenses. He grips my hand, hard.

"How does he know?"

"He just does. He figured it out, because he's smart and he has ESP. No, he has  
SEP, or he can see through SEP. I'm not sure. But it's fine. He won't tell  
anyone." He's still got a death grip on my hand, but the rest of him is starting  
to relax.

"Did you tell him? Did you deny it?"

"I didn't tell him. I, also I didn't deny it."

"Danny. What were you thinking?"

I know he wants me to say it. He's said it, and I feel it and I should say it  
and make him feel better. So I say I love him and that's why I couldn't deny it  
to Jeremy. I tell him it will be fine. I love him. I kiss the back of his neck.  
He relaxes his grip on my hand but he doesn't let go and we fall asleep like  
that.

It's nice that Jeremy knows - it's reassuring to me that this is actually real  
because somebody else knows. Casey doesn't feel that way. He stops talking to  
Jeremy the next day - not ignoring him, but he won't talk to Jeremy about  
anything but work. Jeremy stops me in the hall before the 10 o'clock rundown.

"You told Casey. Because he's being kinda weird to me."

"I told him, yes. And he's weird to everyone. Casey's profoundly weird."

"Dan. He seems particularly weird to me."

"Well." I look both ways - if Casey and I could get a nickel for every time we  
do this, we could have doubled our salaries by now - with the coast clear, I  
say, "Casey's paranoid. I mean, sometimes, I think it's like we both smoke five  
bowls of pot before work except we're never high, we're just paranoid. So. You  
know, he'll get over it." I think it's the first thing I've said to someone else  
about us since we started. Jeremy nods sadly and we go into the rundown.

****

I wake up naked and Casey's snapping at me. "Can you please get up?" He says as  
he rips off the sheet and blanket from over me. I roll onto my back and scratch  
my stomach. Casey is fussing around the room. He glares at me.

"Do you even remember what today is?"

"It's Saturday. We're taking Charlie to Six Flags day."

He's straightening things on the top of the chest of drawers. He gestures for me  
to get up.

"They're going to be here!"

I glance at clock. "In an hour and a half."

"And it's not like they haven't ever been early. And you're here -"

"Which wouldn't be a surprise since I'm the one with car to drive us all there  
and they both know I'm going with the two of you."

"But right now you're naked, on my bed, and the sheets smell like, like this.  
So, please, please, get up now." He's somewhere between pissed off and  
frustrated and it's very unattractive.

I don't tell him that. I go into the bathroom and shower. Before I even step  
into the shower, I hear him ripping the sheets off the bed and starting to  
remake the bed. I try to decide what to wear. I could go with leather pants and  
a mesh shirt. Or something translucent. Maybe a t-shirt that says, "I don't like  
cocksuckers but my boyfriend does." I don't own any of those things, but I  
certainly have time to buy them before Lisa and Charlie arrive. Since in the  
history of the world, Lisa has never ever been early dropping off her son. I put  
on an innocuous t-shirt and jeans. I even use Casey's hairdryer so I'm not  
sitting there with wet hair like I've just showered here.

I sit in the living room and wait with Casey. He toasts bagels for me, and even  
brings my applebutter out to spread on them. Then he snatches it out of my hands  
once I've used it and I look down at the paper but I'm pretty sure he hides it  
in a back part of the pantry. We sit and wait. They're fifteen minutes late.  
Lisa breezes in, and breezes out. We drive to New Jersey and Six Flags.

Charlie's still a good kid - but he's growing in these quick spurts and he's  
suddenly gangly and awkward. At this age, he has his father's fussiness and his  
mother's lack of tact and it's not the easiest combination. We ride rides, we  
drink sodas, and we eat hot dogs.

Charlie and I are standing outside the bathroom waiting for Casey when he starts  
to tell me a joke. He heard it from his friends at school and he's giggling  
before he even starts it, he thinks it's the funniest thing.

"See, these two gay guys go to a zoo," and already I know this isn't going to be  
good but I'm not quite sure how to stop it. "And there's this huge gorilla. And  
the gorilla, he grabs the one gay guy and just has his way, heh, you know! The  
gorilla all has sex with him. And the next week, the one guy goes to visit the  
other gay guy in the hospital afterwards and he asks if the guy is hurt? And the  
other guy, the one the gorilla had sex with, he says, 'Hurt?'" Charlie tries to  
lisp but it's just twisted from someone his age. " 'You know it, sister. He  
doesn't write, he doesn't call.'"

Charlie's laughing at how funny it is, but he stops when he sees I'm not even  
close to finding it humorous. He starts to make a face, but then Casey walks up  
to us. Charlie decides to tell his dad the funny joke that I didn't like. He  
tells it with a nervous giggle but he gets all the way through it. Casey has  
this look on his face that I used to see on my father's face once a week when I  
was a teenager. But Casey's a different kind of dad than mine, and Charlie's  
never seen that expression before. He literally steps back a foot or so.

"From where did you ever get the idea that jokes about gay people like that one  
are funny?" He says in that deathly serious voice.

Charlie mutters something about hearing it from his friends. He's at that age;  
he won't back down completely. He mutters again about how he thought it was  
funny, and he doesn't see what's so bad about it. Casey grabs his arm and steers  
him towards a bench so we can all talk somewhere besides the front of the men's  
bathroom. Charlie sits down and crosses his arms and stares out at the crowd. I  
stand behind Casey, and the bench is cold against my waist. Casey sighs. He  
says, "It's not like you would think that joke was funny if it was about  
African-Americans, right? Right?"

Charlie nods in agreement. He has this truculent expression on his face and he  
looks exactly like Casey did this morning by the bed. Casey looks at him.

"Look, Charlie, jokes like that, saying those kinds of things about gay people,  
its - it's wrong. It's like making racist jokes or saying things about people  
because of their religion. It's wrong. Understand?"

Charlie nods again. We get up and go on more rides. We have more hot dogs and  
after a bit Charlie stops being petulant and actually enjoys himself again.  
Later, Casey and I beg off a third time on some fiendish roller coaster. Away  
from Charlie, Casey falls into an attitude of despair. He looks out at the  
crowd. I light a cigarette. I try to say something reassuring but he hasn't  
looked me in the eye since the joke. Charlie comes running off his ride,  
exhilarated and winded. He runs over to us, but then sees some kids from his  
school and runs over to them. We watch him laughing with his friends and he  
gestures over to us.

"Charlie has two daddies," I say very, very quietly. Casey shoots me a deathly  
glare, and walks over to talk to the other parents. I wait for them.

On the drive home, Charlie revives the topic. He says, in a wondering tone, that  
everyone at school makes fun of gays. It's not just the stupid kids; it's all of  
his friends. Casey twists around to look at him and says that it doesn't matter  
what they say. There's probably some pamphlet for this - how to talk to your  
kids about homophobia, or something - but Casey doesn't have it at this moment  
and he flails around talking about how homophobia is wrong and it doesn't matter  
what other people tell him, because it is wrong to make fun of people because of  
their sexual orientation.

Charlie says he doesn't know any gay people. Casey rubs his eyes. He points out  
that it's not like you can tell just by looking. Charlie acknowledges that this  
is true. He then notes that there aren't any gays in sports.

"Also not true," I say. "Billy Bean. Rudy Galindo. Glenn Burke. Bruce Hayes.  
David Kopay. Greg Louganis. Billie Jean King. Martina Navratilova. And probably  
a lot more who won't admit it because of all the things your Dad was talking  
about." I glance over at Casey who's still twisted around in his seat to look at  
Charlie.

Charlie nods and then, of all things, laughs. "Okay, okay," he says. "I get it.  
I just didn't think about it." Which is his way of saying sorry. Because he is a  
good little guy at heart.

Back at Casey's, he asks me to stay for dinner, but I say no. He sends Charlie  
off to wash up and pulls me into the kitchen. Casey kisses me goodbye and rests  
his forehead against mine. "This was a day, wasn't it?" Which is his way of  
saying sorry, too, I guess. As I'm walking to the door, Charlie comes barreling  
out of the bathroom and hugs me goodbye.

At my apartment I sit on the couch and turn on the TV. Casey and I have fucked  
on this couch three times. It's been cleaned, of course, but there's still this  
rip that Casey made the second time. I finger the tear over and over again.  
Court TV has a Homicide marathon and I fall asleep on the couch during the fifth  
episode.

****

Jeremy and I sit in the editing room, going over footage from a completed road  
trip. We did remotes every night, but we have other stuff for a feature. It was  
a fun trip, even being away from Casey for four days.

Natalie comes bustling in and shuts the door.

"Jeremy, Dan, I have to tell you what happened while you were gone." She's  
bursting with whatever she has to say. "First off, Dana swore me to secrecy so  
don't tell anyone."

"If Dana swore you to secrecy shouldn't you be not telling us?" Jeremy says.

"You two don't count. And it's about Casey so I'm sure Dan already knows." She  
looks at me with a sly grin.

"I'm sure I don't," I say and look back at the footage. I hold my breath and try  
to look bored. Already I know this isn't going to be good.

She keeps going. She says that two nights ago, when everyone went to Anthony's,  
Casey got completely wasted. "And there was this girl," she says and I feel my  
hands go numb. I'm staring at the screen with our footage and right now I can't  
tell you what sport these people are playing.

"Natalie -" Jeremy starts, but she doesn't stop.

"So this girl drags him back to the bathroom - the women's bathroom - and they  
have sex in the stall. The farthest one from the door."

I need to be normal here. Because Natalie can't keep a secret. But I can't tell  
if this is basketball or baseball or football or lacrosse. Maybe it's lacrosse.  
What month is this - what season are we in? Jesus, am I supposed to be proud of  
Casey for doing this? What does Natalie expect of me? I can't think of anything  
to say. On the screen there's a man in a purple uniform, and he has this tattoo  
on his arm - a band around his bicep that says real murder. I open my mouth to  
say something, but I can't form any words.

Jeremy stands up and grabs Natalie's arm to lead her out. "How do you know they  
did anything, Natalie?"

She's startled that he's trying to hustle her out, and she says, grinning,  
"Because Dana walked in on them. And Casey was so embarrassed. He swore her to  
secrecy." Jeremy gets her out of the room and closes the door firmly as they  
leave. I don't know what he says to her.

For some length of time I can only measure by how loud my heart sounds in my  
head, I sit and stare. He called me the next day, he called me yesterday and he  
sounded normal. Maybe not completely normal, he sounded rushed, like he couldn't  
talk on the phone. But mostly normal. So we've come this far, and it's been 11  
months, and he had been fucking some girl in a bathroom stall the night before  
and I couldn't tell at all. I watch the same purple suited man with his tattoo  
jump and do something with a ball. What the fuck does real murder mean? Is there  
unreal murder? Why would you have that tattooed on your arm?

Jeremy comes back in and puts his hands on my shoulders.

"Dan. I'm sorry." I hear him say it and I can't breathe. This room is nothing  
but screens and they all have something different on them. People moving fast,  
hitting things. I manage some words, even coherent ones.

"Could you ask Casey to come in here?" Jeremy squeezes my shoulder and leaves  
again. And then I'm alone again in the editing room.

I'm watching basketball. The Lakers. I was in LA when we filmed this and Casey  
was drunk in a stall fucking some girl.

Casey comes in and tries to act casual, saying Jeremy said I needed him.

"Did you," I say and my voice isn't remotely like normal, "did you think I  
wouldn't hear about it? Did you really think I wouldn't hear about it?" I've  
turned away from the Lakers and I'm staring at him as he leans against the wall.  
He covers his face with his hand and sits down on the couch.

He says he's sorry. He clasps his hands in front of him and I can see his face  
and he says he's sorry again. I know exactly why he did it; I could have done  
the same. There are always these girls, beautiful girls, and they're so easy.  
Not easy like slutty, but easy like if you slept with them you could tell  
everyone and ratings wouldn't go down. And none of them knows you so well, knows  
you deep to your bones, that it's sometimes completely frightening. I've never  
cheated on Casey. Not even kissing someone else. But I know why he did it.

He says he's sorry and I think he's almost about to cry. He says he's ashamed  
and he's sorry and it will never happen again. I forgive him. It's like my heart  
has been ripped out and then shoved back in place, but at least it's there. We  
break our cardinal rule and for a moment, in a corner where no can see, he  
kisses me in the office. It's fine. I know we'll be fine.

****

We've been doing this thing for eleven and a half months, the longest romantic  
relationship of my life. I would tell Casey and feel a little proud of myself  
but he's pretty clear on what a fuck-up I've been. And, being Casey, he already  
knows this accomplishment.

I tell Jeremy instead. At Anthony's, after the show, we're sitting at the end of  
the bar and I say, "It's been 11 and a half months, you know." I raise an  
eyebrow, wave my cigarette, and glance at Casey, over by Natalie and Dave,  
saying, "Rafter, not Sampras." Jeremy nods that he understands. I say, "That's,  
like, the longest relationship of my life."

"That's great, Dan. And, you know, everything's okay?" It's only been two weeks  
since the girl and the bathroom. I smile, Because it's really all okay. I say  
so. I say everything's fine, we're good, we're great.

I lean back and pretend to survey the bar, but really, I'm just watching Casey.  
He catches my eye and gives me this little half smirk - a secretive sort of  
hello in this crowded space. I've been in so many bars and I've always been just  
passing through. On the lookout for something that could be something but never  
was, or just looking for something quick. But in this bar, right now, this is  
definitely something.

****

Casey makes plans again. It's our one-year anniversary and he wants it to be  
special. He calls in all his chips and some of mine so we can both take off six  
days and vacation together. He tells everyone that we're going skiing. The plan,  
his elaborate plan, is to find some ski town in the wilds of Canada that has  
never been anywhere near a CSC affiliate, some place where no one will recognize  
us.

"In two years, everyone will discover this place, but right now, it's nothing  
but ski bums and snowboarders. So maybe they would recognize Greta Gaines or  
Russ Rebagliati, but we're nobodies to them, Dan." He's crowing to me in a side  
hallway. "And the skiing will be great."

"We're actually gonna ski? Should I break a leg the first day for effect?" I  
wonder if he's planned already exactly what we're going to say when we get back  
about the quality of the slopes and all the pretty girls we saw.

He glances from side to side to make sure we're safe with a wolfish grin. We're  
all such easily trained animals - after a year of this, I actually get a little  
thrill out of seeing Casey doing that paranoid side glance, because I know he's  
about to say something serious or sexy or something about us. I grin at him. "We  
should ski one day, at least. But I have other plans for your legs and for the  
rest of you."

"Casey, aren't you a little worried that a small town in deepest Canada might  
not be so taken with your plans for me and my legs?"

"You underestimate my research. It's a great town, I swear." He laughs. "We're  
gonna walk down the street together and if we want to hold hands we will. I may  
even kiss you, right on the street." And standing in the hall, seeing some  
researcher come towards us and studiously switching to talking about Agassi  
again, it does sound like quite the little paradise. We walk off to our separate  
tasks and he gives me that little half smirk again and I think, it's gonna be  
great.

It is great. Completely great. We do go skiing, once, but the rest of the time  
we rent movies to watch in our room, get dinner at the three different  
restaurants, drink at a local bar and fuck like bunnies. One of the first things  
we see when pull into town is two men necking in front of our hotel at four in  
the afternoon. I make a joke about queer skiing paradise and Casey doesn't even  
flinch. He just smiles smugly and says, "Research, Danny, research."

It's not the Castro or West Hollywood, but it's a tolerant little hippie bastion  
of a ski bum town. Neither of us shaves once while we're there, and wrapped in  
our winter coats, I doubt we're that recognizable to begin with. But no one  
does. On the third day we're walking to the video store, again, when some  
teenager comes up to me and asks for an autograph. Casey drops his hand from my  
back like it's on fire and we both stare at the kid. I boggle a little and it  
turns out the kid thinks I'm Stephen Dorff. Once I assure him I'm really not and  
that I'm really no one at all he skips off with a sigh. We rent Backbeat because  
Casey has no idea what Stephen Dorff looks like. He admits, under duress, that I  
am much cuter than Stephen Dorff and, most likely, better in bed.

In the video store the first time, Casey walked up to me and puts his hand on my  
back while leaning in very close to show me some video he wants to rent. The  
store wasn't thronged with people, but someone walked right by us. I was about  
to jump out of my skin, but the woman walked right by us without comment. The  
tremors in Casey's hand disappeared. I put my foot down about renting anything  
with any Baldwin, besides the Usual Suspects, of course, and we rented The  
Longest Yard, Bull Durham, and Caddyshack.

We walk down the streets walking too close, sometimes even holding hands. We sit  
in the bar watching games on the satellite feed (TSN only, not even ESPN around  
here) and I keep my hand on Casey's thigh the whole time. No pet names but by  
the second day he's saying Danny in this lascivious and loving manner that would  
take an army of Slartibartfasts and a hundred of Jeremy's SEP fields to pass as  
anything even vaguely straight.

The third night we're there, Casey tells me his other plans. He sits across from  
me at a restaurant and says, "I have a plan. I have all this figured out."

"Figured out what? Tonight's order of videos?"

"No. This," he says waving his hand between the two of us. I lean back and look  
at him questioningly.

"We seem to have this figured out. We're doing okay." I say.

"Not really. I mean, I have a plan for us to be like this, like here. I think  
it'll be great." And he starts to go into his plan, like a kid making a stable  
of gold for his planned for pony. The first part of his plan is that he leaves  
Sports Night and gets a job with one of many news channels doing some kind of  
commentary, politics stuff. "Like Olbermann," he says, "except it's me and it'll  
be better." Then after he's been doing it for a little while, I leave Sports  
Night and write. "And then," he says with flourish, "we're not in sports, and I  
can be the token liberal commentator if I have to be and who really cares and  
it's all perfect."

"What exactly am I writing here, Case? And how come you get to be the one still  
on TV?"

"You're writing stuff. Articles on things sports related but not current things.  
Or books. Or something. And I'm the one on TV because my Q rating is higher and  
I'll be the one to get the offers if I indicate I want them and you're the  
better writer anyway." He says it so matter of fact. The first part stings a  
little, but the second part - that he says it like a given, it's the nicest  
thing he's ever said to me in a way.

He notices my grin and says, "Scored some points there, didn't I?" He gets a  
proud look on his face, and I can tell he didn't plan to say it, he just  
believes it. I say yeah, and look at him. He's smiling at me and he's so fucking  
irresistible. I don't like his plan, and I don't think he really believes in it  
either. I say, "I like Sports Night." I look down at my dinner, steak well done  
with no pink anywhere and a baked potato drowning in butter. He takes my hand  
and makes me look up."I like Sports Night, too. I love it, Danny. But I like  
this, too. I love it. And by it, I mean you." He holds onto my hand when the  
waitress comes with the check. I even kiss him right on the street in front of  
the hotel.

The last night we're in town, we buy a bottle of Maker's Mark to drink in the  
room. We only have one glass for some unknown reason so I pour for Casey and I  
drink straight from the bottle. Casey says he thinks that arrangement seems  
unhygienic, which makes me laugh given how long we've been swapping spit and  
more. I say that to him and he laughs, too. We have sex and watch our last  
video, the Mighty Ducks. After that we lie on the bed. I'm sitting up, watching  
TSN, and he sits between my legs, leaning back against my chest. He sips his  
glass of whiskey, and says, "I - Danny, I'm not a very good person."

I wrap my arms around him and say, "Yes, you are. You're a very good person.  
Also, a very good lay."

"Danny. I mean it." He's slurring words that don't even have sibilants, so I  
realize he's pretty drunk.

"Danny. I mean it," he says again. "I always talk about how we have to be  
careful. I'm not scared. I'm scared of losing my job and all that and I'm scared  
of those things. But I'm so paranoid - maybe I'm not so paranoid of everything  
as I am scared of you." He's almost mumbling by the end, and I rest my head  
against his back. I can hear his heart in one ear and his mumbling in the other.

"I'm not that scary," I say.

"We're gonna screw this up, I think." I can't think of how to answer that. I  
tell him not to be scared and take his glass away. We go back to fucking like  
bunnies.

****

It surprises me every day how much he still turns me on. I always thought, with  
the other people I've been with, after some point things would become  
perfunctory. A matter of habit to go home and sleep with someone. I thought I  
would get bored. But here it is, thirteen months of sleeping with Casey and I  
can still get hard just looking at him.

I should be tired of his looks. I've seen them so long, and for so long they  
didn't cause anything to happen in my pants at all. Instead, my appreciation of  
how hot he is has deepened with time. And it's all sorts of things. A big toothy  
grin across the newsroom, a sidelong glance during the show, an unexpected touch  
in the editing room and I want him as much as I did 13 months ago.

And it's not just how hot he is, it's everything about him. He kills me  
sometimes with what he writes, and one night I even get turned on by one of his  
improvised fills. I'm lost, I'm whipped, I'm still falling and it's pretty  
great.

At the 10 o'clock rundown Dana comes bustling in with Isaac and these shit-  
eating grins. They both start crowing about the latest ratings. For a year, for  
almost exactly a year, our ratings have been ticking up and now we're neck and  
neck with Fox. Dana congratulates us both for a job well done. And she's right.  
We're so kicking ass. We're so great on the air since we started this, even when  
we're fighting.

Casey has stopped talking about his idea for us to leave Sports Night. One night  
we're in bed and already naked and Casey tells me that CSC offered him a fat  
renewal on his contract. Mad money. He trails his fingers down my chest and  
looks sad. My agent already told me about the offer because it's her job to know  
these things, but it just did happen today and it's the first time he's had a  
chance to tell me. Casey looks sad, though, and he keeps looking at my chest and  
not at me. He says he's going to take the offer. He doesn't mention his grand  
plan.

"You should take it. You deserve every penny. It's fine, Case."

He looks up, finally, and almost smiles. I say, "You know what would be even  
more fine?"

"What?"

"If you would, you know, come a little closer and do something here, okay?" And  
he does and it's all fine.

****

We eat a second dinner after the show one night at his apartment. He puts on a  
cd and stands in the middle of his living room and says, "Let's dance." I make a  
face. I don't want to dance. He says come over here. I roll my eyes and walk  
over but it turns out he was defining dancing as holding me and kissing me,  
which is much better than the twirls or fake waltz I had initially envisioned.  
We fuck right there on the floor and the only bad part is that I get so  
distracted I never take out the awful Matchbox Twenty cd he has playing.

The next day, at the office, he says, "You don't like Matchbox Twenty?"

"Casey. Matchbox Twenty - uncool. Never trust a band with a number in their name  
that's spelled out."

"Matchbox Twenty - they're uncool?"

"Yes. And they suck."

"I like the music."

"Well. Seriously, Casey - Matchbox Twenty? Their music is like - it's taking  
only the radio friendly parts of Jane's Addiction, R.E.M. and U2 and putting 'em  
in a blender with a heaping helping of bland to smooth out any rough edges. They  
completely suck."

"Am I allowed to like Third Eye Blind?"

"No. They're the same species of crap. And Creed. Except Creed just puts  
Pearl Jam in the blender and strains out all the talent. All three - uncool and  
sucky."

Casey looks pissed. He looks pissed for the rest of the afternoon and I can't  
believe we're actually going to have an argument about Matchbox Twenty. One more  
reason to hate that talentless crap band. After the show, we end up at his  
apartment and he snipes away at how cooler than thou I am for a half hour. By  
then, I'm pissed, too, because I can't believe he'd actually be mad at me for  
making fun of some stupid cd he likes, after ten plus years of ridiculing his  
choices. Tonight he decides it's bad.

We move from sniping to arguing pretty quickly. Apparently not only am I a  
fucking know-it-all about music, fashion and movies but also I go out of my way  
to make him feel uncool. I don't bite back my comment about how I don't make him  
feel uncool, he just naturally is. I call him an uptight asshole. We end up in  
his kitchen. He grips the edge of the sink as he yells at me, "You are not the  
only one with opinions. I'll like what I want and you are not the final arbiter of  
what is cool. You can't remake me into what you decide is cool." He glares at me  
and leans back against the sink. "If I wanted to be judged and found wanting in  
coolness every day, I would still be fucking Lisa," he spits out.

I slam my hand against a cabinet since he's too far away to hit. I say, "You  
should feel fucking free to do that. I can't believe you'd compare me to her."

He exhales like he's been holding his breath for hours. He sinks to the floor  
and rests his forehead against his knees. I sit down next to him. He mumbles  
something I can't hear. I ask for clarification.

"I'm sorry. I don't - what am I doing here?" He sits up. He wraps his arms  
around me and kisses the top of my head. He says he's sorry again. I tell him he  
can listen to whatever he wants, but I'm not going to any of those concerts with  
him.

****

There are good days. We wake up together and eat breakfast in his kitchen. He  
leaves for work after I do, but I stop at Starbucks and get coffee for everyone  
\- and carry all 10 cups with the kind ooof grace and skill that the scouts should  
have noticed in high school. I get there after him but that means when I walk in  
the office, the first thing I see is his smile. The rundown is snappy and  
between the two of us we work the phones and manage to get an exclusive about a  
new athletic director at UVa. Our writing is crisp, we're crackling on air, and  
even Isaac tells us it was a good show as we head out. We go straight home to my  
place and fuck while watching Nebraska at Penn State from 1982 on ESPN Classic.  
I make a joke about the Liz Phair song where she sings, "that way we can fuck  
and watch TV" and Casey actually gets it, he's actually listened to the album I  
stuck in his cd player and left at his apartment. He tells me he won't be  
leaving at 4 am and he didn't go to camp with Julia Roberts. I fall asleep in  
his arms.

****

There are bad days. I wake up alone, hating Natalie. She's gotten an on-air job  
with a local network news show, and we've all been going out every night for a  
week to celebrate. Last night she decided that I shouldn't give Casey a ride;  
instead I should drive Kim and Will home. Then she said in front of everyone  
that Casey and I spend too much time together and I saw him wince. By the time I  
got home from driving all over Manhattan, there's a message from Casey saying  
it's late, and he's tired and not to come by. So it's been now 4 days in a row  
of waking up alone. I get to work early but Casey gets to work late. There's not  
a moment all day when we're alone, it seems, and Casey grows more and more  
annoyed by my attempts to find even five minutes to simply talk. He tells me  
we'll talk later. After the show I follow him down to the garage but he gets  
even more pissed off and he won't talk to me. I say something about not going to  
bed angry and he says I'll just have to live with it, he's going home now  
without me. I point out he doesn't even own a car, so I don't know why he's in  
the garage in that case. He turns on his heel and walks out to the street to  
catch a cab. I keep trying to get him to look at me and he tells me to back off.  
He gets in the cab and I drive home alone. I smoke four cigarettes in an hour,  
lying in bed. He calls me at 3 am, contrite and sad. And we're better, but  
nothing's really settled.

****

In the end, we break up. He breaks up with me. 16 months, 2 weeks and a few days  
after we started this. I know it's coming for a month. Casey does this weird  
flirtation thing with Dana and everyone in the office thinks it's because Dana's  
nearly engaged to Sam Donovan but I know what's going on. That's just a sign;  
it's Casey wigging out because he knows like I do that we're ending.

I know it's coming and still I make him do it. For a month we go home together  
and fuck and work together and I smile and stay away from dangerous topics and  
think, just fucking say it, Casey. I make him say it because I won't.

Friday we go back to his place after the show. We walk into the kitchen and he  
hands me a beer. He opens his and takes a long swig. He puts his hands down on  
the table and I watch the condensation form on his bottle of Heineken. I lean  
against the sink. He says, "We should stop this. We should not do this anymore."  
He starts in on the list of reasons, and right before it hits me, before we hit  
the ground hard, I think, I could have written this script better.

He says we're never going to leave Sports Night and we'll always be lying to  
people and skulking around. More than that, or alongside that; we hurt each  
other all the time. We're shredding ourselves and if we don't stop now, we won't  
stop until there's nothing left, not even the show. We know each other too well  
and we can't make this work. I can only say yes. I look around his kitchen, and  
remember all the times we fucked in here. I say, "Break up sex now, right?" He  
bursts out laughing and there's something reckless and lost in his eyes. He  
throws our beers into the sink. I hear the glass breaking but we're already in  
the bedroom.

It's great sex. Not fast or slow, but just the last time. Sex and Sports Night,  
that's the only things we've ever done well together. That list should maybe be  
longer but I don't feel that generous tonight. Ask me in a month. Or a year. He  
keeps his eyes closed the whole time, and I keep mine open. After, I get dressed  
again. Casey sits up on the bed and covers his eyes with his hand. I try to find  
my stuff and things I've left here to take with me, but it's too much to carry  
so I just go.

At my apartment I walk to the bedroom to sleep. But Casey and I were here last  
night and I can smell him on the sheets. I need to change the sheets. I rip  
everything off the bed and take the pillowcases off the pillows. I pile all of  
it in the corner, for the maid service to deal with on Sunday. I walk out to  
find clean sheets but then I find a box. I put an R.E.M. cd in the stereo. I  
start in the kitchen and grab everything that's Casey's and put it in the box. I  
clean out his coffee from the pantry and his beers. It takes me thirty minutes.  
I hope Casey does this for me. He has my applebutter that I ordered from West  
Virginia and it's not like he likes the stuff. I have so many shirts and  
sweaters over there. I've been too thorough. There's stuff in this box that  
Casey left before we were ever fucking; a sweatshirt, some books and a video. He  
left them here when we were friends and we weren't whatever.

I never knew what to call him. He was Casey and now I know what to call him,  
he's my ex. So, nice that he has a title at last.

I sit down slowly in the middle of my living room. It's like every bone in my  
body is broken and if I move the wrong way I'll just crumble to nothing. I must  
be sad. I don't quite feel it yet, but Everybody Hurts is playing, and I don't  
make fun of the lyrics. I listen to them. Every other time in my life I've felt  
anything like this since I was 19, I called Casey. But I can't do that. I grab  
the phone and call Jeremy. On the first ring, I pray he's not at Natalie's. I  
pray Natalie's not with him. He answers on the third ring and he's alone. I woke  
him up, but I guess with my voice and the way I say his name and he sounds  
suddenly awake.

He listens to me babble for a half hour. I don't cry, even at the end when he  
says Natalie is busy tomorrow and I can come over and we'll watch the Godfather,  
both parts. I know I'm going to cry when he says he'll make me pancakes. I say  
fine and hang up. I curl up on the floor and fall asleep crying.

Jeremy and I don't talk much, except to recite the lines we know, which is about  
half the dialogue. When I get home that night, there's a message from Casey.  
He's calling just to check up on me, to see how I am. I play the message over  
and over again and fall asleep on the floor again because I can't face the  
bedroom.

Sunday we both come into work late. We say hey and try to work. He gets up to  
talk to Isaac about a five minute feature and disappears for an hour. Casey  
skips the 10 o'clock rundown, which is fair, since I skipped the three earlier  
ones. Isaac tells us all that Casey has some kind of family emergency and will  
be taking off the rest of the week and going home. I wish I'd thought of that.

I make an appointment with Abby on Monday. I tell her about the last year and a  
half since we talked and Casey and everything else. I cry, but I figure if I'm  
only crying at home and in front of Abby, I'm doing pretty well. She listens and  
when the session's over, she just looks at me. Then she says, "You know, Dan,  
you're doing fine. You just broke up with the love of your life and you're sad  
and you're in pain. If you came here and told me nothing was wrong and you felt  
fine, I'd be worried. But you don't need to be here."

I tell her I need someone to talk to. I can't just talk to Jeremy. She says,  
"I'm pretty expensive. $175 a session, Dan. A prostitute would be cheaper."

I point out that she's bound by law not to tell anyone. She lets me schedule a  
follow-up.

I have to make the appointment at a weird time, so everyone in the office ends  
up knowing about it. They all think I've gone crazy again, and between that and  
Casey's "family emergency" no one pushes too hard about how out of it we both  
are. With Jeremy in Natalie's position, the whole office gossip mill is much  
less intrusive these days. People look concerned, but no one bothers us.

The show sucks for two weeks - the week Casey is gone and the week he first gets  
back. Then we find our groove. I think the show is the only place where we can  
talk anymore and the list of things we do well is now only Sports Night. But we  
both love Sports Night so that's still something.

Two weeks after Casey gets back from his vacation and then a week after that,  
he shows up at my place drunk and wanting to fuck. I'm not proud that I said no  
and turned him away with nice speeches about how we had to get over this and  
find our way back to each other as friends because two weeks after that we're in  
the doorway by Anthony's again, and I have him in my hand and we're kissing and  
I started it this time. He is hot and hard in my hand and his tongue is in my  
mouth and I think I could come right there just from smell of his hair and his  
hand scrabbling at my jeans. Then he stops. He pushes against me and falls back  
against the other side of the doorway.

He leans back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. He says my name and  
sounds sad. I just say yeah. This is the last time we will do this, that we will  
be these people with each other and after this just seems like an abyss of  
indifference I can't imagine. I say, "I loved - I love you. Did I say that  
enough?"

He says, "I always knew."

That's good. I sink to a squat, supported by the wall. He's zipped up his jeans  
and tucked his shirt back in. He's always been so beautiful. Which is probably  
something else I never said enough. Now we'll stop talking about this ever and  
if he never again looks at me like he is looking at me now this whole thing  
between us will be just a story I tell Jeremy and Abby. No one ever saw us or  
found us out and later I will never know if it was real or if I imagined it.

I force myself to speak, to say, "Case. You - you have to promise me that  
someday when we're whatever happens after this that you'll still sometimes  
remind me that it happened because we're the only ones who knew and ..." I don't  
know where to go from that. He sighs.

"It's not just us, Dan. There's Isaac - Isaac," he pauses, and then, "Jeremy,  
and, now, Abby, I suppose now."

"Isaac? You told Isaac?"

"Yes, like you told Jeremy, I told Isaac. After that Sunday." He pauses again.  
"I didn't mean to but I couldn't stop talking and I told him. Just like you told  
Jeremy."

"I didn't tell Jeremy. I told you - he figured it out."

He's suddenly angry. He takes one long stride and stands over me, hissing,  
"Lord. It's over now, Dan, tell the fucking truth. You told Jeremy. You wanted  
someone to talk to that wasn't me, and you told Jeremy. Because you had to have  
someone to talk to - like it's not real or something." He sinks down and now as  
he talks, he's still hissing and I think spitting in my hair. I 'm looking at  
his feet. I murmur something about how I never told Jeremy but he doesn't hear  
or he ignores me.

He inhales and starts again. "These things happened. They are real whether you  
ever tell anyone, there are actually things that happen that are important and  
real that don't end up on the highlight reel and still matter. Damn it, you are  
so fucking -" I can feel his anger as he crowds over me, he's warm and the smell  
of him tonight - gel, aftershave, makeup remover, alcohol, stale cigarettes  
lingering from Anthony's - it's all stronger than stench of the street. All I  
can do is look at his shoes. His feet seem huge all of a sudden. I think he  
wants to hit me - his hands are clenching into fists and unclenching over and  
over again in his pockets.

He spits on the street, away from me and says, "This happened. Let me remind you  
now. For sixteen months you and I would go home together four or five nights a  
week and we would go to your apartment or mine and we would fuck. I have fucked  
you and you have fucked me and I have sucked your cock and you have sucked mine  
and we have had sex many, many times." His voice cracks. "Do you need to me to  
tell you it was good?" I screw my eyes shut. I can hear my own ragged, uneven  
breathing since he is right next to me, still talking so quietly. "We said we  
loved each other and we meant it, I think, at least some of the time." He stands  
up. He doesn't step away from me.

"So. Maybe we meant it a lot more than some of the time. All of that happened,  
Dan. And it happened whether or not Jeremy and Isaac and Abby know. And we were  
friends for 10 years before that but everyone knows that so I don't think you  
need me to remind you." He walks out of the doorway. I can finally look up, but  
I can't move my legs. I'm going to die here, in this doorway, freeze over night  
like the little match girl with all my matches gone. Except it won't get that  
cold tonight, it's not winter. This doorway - this door must lead somewhere.  
He's facing toward me, a few feet away but I can't see his face in this light. I  
say, "And now?"

I hear him sigh and shrug. He says quickly, "I don't fucking know." We are so  
well and permanently trained. Even on this deserted street I see him look around  
and he walks back over to me so he can complete his thought where people won't  
hear. And I'm just as well trained; I start to think it's probably a good idea  
to be careful. Everyone's seen that we're only Dan and Casey on air and while  
Jeremy has kept the gossips away, they're all concerned and we were drinking  
with them twenty minutes ago. I wonder if they heard the yelling. I wonder if  
they came to find us when I had his dick in my hand.

Thinking that, my legs start to work and I stand up. There's one small step up  
to this doorway and I never realized it before, but standing here on it, Casey  
and I are exactly the same height and we're exactly eye-to-eye. He's not angry  
anymore. He says, "Going back to Abby - that's not because of me, right? You're  
okay, right?"

Eye to eye, I can see him. When he asks that, we're back for just a moment. Dan  
and Casey - not the ones who were fucking, but whatever everything else we were.  
Which makes me strong enough to tell him that I'm fine, that I just wanted  
someone to talk to. He doesn't get mad at that, he just says that's good. He  
walks back to the bar and I smoke a cigarette as I walk home.

****

Two and a half months after we break up, Natalie fixes Casey up with a girl from  
her new job and it works out. Everyone loves her, except me. He won't ever tell  
her, but I'm the bitter ex, and I feel confident I'm allowed to hate her. It's  
not exactly what Natalie wanted, since she hoped that helping Casey would make  
him be nice to Jeremy again and it doesn't.

I wake up some days and I think I will die alone and all I will have to show for  
anything is the show. I wake up some days and I think I will find a nice someone  
and settle down and forget all this. I wake up some days and I know Casey and I  
will be friends again, maybe even some time soon, and that can't be such a bad  
thing. I wake up some days and I can't breathe and all I can think of fucking  
Casey and being with Casey. Some days I just wake up.  
  
---


End file.
